Star-Crossed
by watchthesummersunrise
Summary: One-shot: You have no idea why 'Romeo and Juliet' is such a classic. What could two feuding families and sword fights possibly teach you about love? Nothing, you suppose. With Brittany's help, you learn how wrong you are.


You are dissappointed in your senior year of high school. You thought there would be more parties, more drinking, and at least more general happiness. But, senior year is just like any other year: busy. The only good thing is that you are still in the blissful period between sending out your college applications and receiving any decisions in the mail. That makes it only slightly easier. You still have homework, Cheerios, and Glee Club. You still go to cheerleading practice every morning, skip lunch to study in the library (only sometimes), and sing your heart out after school. Everything feels very much the same.

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Brittany quickly links her pinky with your own on the way to practice the next morning and you could not think of a way to be reminded that, however lacking a radical difference, senior year of high school _is_ better. You have _her_,now.

"I was thinking…maybe this year, for Nationals, we could bring that cannon idea back…I feel kind of like I could do it. Like one last awesome stunt. I was dreaming about it last night and it could be fun if-"

"No!" You say quickly. The word escapes your lip before you can even think to stop it. You unlink your pinkies and instead take Brittany's entire hand in your own. You hold it tightly and tug so she will stop walking. You two are still in the parking lot. It's just been re-done and smells so strongly that it feels like tar has been spread on the inside of your nostrils. Still, you make sure Brittany is looking at you. "No cannon," you say. You watch her pout.

"But San-"

"If you even go _near_ that cannon..." you begin, trying to think of something to hold over her head. You can only come up with the one lame thing. "I'll…I'll start smoking again."

Brittany gasps. "Santana! You wouldn't."

You wait for her eyes to lock onto yours. You know she's searching for any hint that you may be bluffing. You are. Kind of. "I would," you warn, as calmly as you can.

"Fine," Brittany huffs, "No cannon."

"Thank you," you tell her. You make sure to kiss her cheek extra softly, so that she knows that you really are thanking her. You shudder as the images of cannons, explosions, and fire swirl in your mind. You'd quickly volunteer yourself for any such activities before ever letting Brittany go near them. You grip her hand even more tightly in your own. "Also, I love you."

"I love you, too," Brittany says. "Duh."

You smile at the tiny grin she gives you. Because, by now, shouldn't you know that? You should…you _do_, but sometimes you still can't believe it. You match her long strides as you both walk onto the practice field. It's only September but the mornings are colder. You wish that, when you picked her up this morning, Brittany would have remembered her track pants instead of shorts. You hate to see her shiver.

"San, no one's here," Brittany observes.

She drops your hand only so she can put down the giant gym bag that is weighing down her shoulder. You would have offered to carry it for her if you didn't already have your own to haul around. "Crap," you say, looking at the empty field. You fish your phone out of your pocket and your suspicions are correct. It's only 6:30 and practice doesn't begin until 7.

"Did we do it again?" Brittany asks. She points one of her feet at a stray leaf and absentmindedly moves it around.

You watch the sky as a few birds land on the nearest stadium light. "Yea…we did it again," you mumble.

Brittany giggles and immediately begins to twirl. She throws her arms out and tilts her head up towards the bare blue sky.

You want to be upset, but you can't. Not when she finds such joy in the emptiness. You two have done this a few times so far. Because you pick Brittany up in the morning, you always set your clock for 5:45 so that you have time to drink a protein smoothie, put on makeup, and get into your uniform before getting to Brittany's house. There, you usually spend some time with her and watch TV while she eats breakfast curled beside you on her couch. Today, you two had left earlier than usual because Brittany had already eaten.

"We have the whole place to ourselves," Brittany says. "What should we do?"

She always asks this and you always make a show of thinking. But, you two do the same thing each time. You spin, with her, until you get dizzy and then end up doing homework on the bleachers until the rest of the team arrives. Once situated, with her legs on top of your thighs, you rest your eyes for a moment to shake off your dizziness. Next to you, Brittany is going over her lab report with a scrunched brow that you know she only reserves for truly confusing homework. You offer to help, but she says that she's just double checking her calculations. You nod and take out the only homework that you still haven't done.

"_Romeo and Juliet_?" Brittany asks, seeing the book. "In my class, we just watched the movie."

You groan. "I know…I got stuck with Mr. Trainwreck. He's the only one that doesn't let his classes watch the movie. We actually have to _read_ this dumb thing," you tell Brittany. You shake your copy of the Shakespeare classic as if it were filled with disease.

"San," Brittany scolds lightly. "Mr. _Trenwick_ is not that bad."

Brittany shuffles her legs on your lap which leaves your skin cold until her body settles. You wonder if Brittany knows how you love it when she scolds you. You like the way she says your name warningly. You like how her left eyebrow creases and her chin dips down so that she looks more menacing. It's the cutest thing you've ever seen. "Sorry," you apologize, "but Mr. _Trenwick_ really needs to get over himself. No one even _likes_ Shakespeare."

Brittany bites her lower lip and looks back at her lab report. "I liked the movie," she says causally, "Leonardo DiCaprio did a really good job."

You inwardly groan. You would give anything to be able to just watch the movie. Instead you are faced with reading a book written in the fifteen hundreds full of ridiculous language. Your head hurts thinking about it. You can already think of fifteen hundred things you'd rather be doing. "I already know what happens," you whine to Brittany. You only get an inquisitive glance from her. "Fighting, family crap, they are together anyways, and then they both die because they're idiots with bad timing."

Brittany raises an eyebrow and grins. "Poetic."

You smirk. "Dost thou protest my highly superior language? Blasphemy! Traitor!" You point your finger at her for effect and it sends her into a giggling fit. You start to laugh, too, and clutch at your sides when it gets too much.

"You're silly," Brittany says. She puts away her lab report and swings her legs down. "I like it when you're silly."

You know this. You know that she likes it when you are just as ridiculous as you were the day she first met you in second grade. You were a dork then and you still are now (but only for her). You move the dumb book to your right hand so that you can intertwine the fingers of your left hand with hers.

Brittany pulls herself closer.

She leans her chin on your shoulder and you get goose bumps at the feeling of her hot breath cooling on the side of your face. She reaches for your book and you let her take it.

"Looks hard," Brittany murmurs, leafing through the pages with one hand.

You know she's seeing all of the highlighting you've done. Mostly, you've marked Elizabethan phrases and words that you don't understand…which means that there's a lot of highlighting and a lot of footnote-reading. "It's just dumb."

"Why?"

"It's overdramatic," you tell Brittany. "Love shouldn't be so…dramatic."

Brittany shrugs against you and places the book on her lap. "That's what makes it interesting though, right?" She absentmindedly nuzzles her nose closer.

You feel the chill of her skin on the nape of your neck. You knew she must be getting cold. You place you hand on the bare skin of her right leg. You rub, hoping to help warm her up.

"_Romeo and Juliet_ is an epic love story," Brittany says. "It's a classic."

You don't think that will help you like it any better. "It's still ridiculous," you pout, "It's hard to care about."

Brittany is quiet for a few moments. "Whenever I'm having trouble with my math homework or those dumb word problems, I try to imagine bunnies…or Lord Tubbington."

You turn and press your lips to her forehead briefly. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Brittany says, "I try pretending that the numbers and the words matter because I _make _them things that matter. Like…I change word problems about how many watermelons a truck can hold to a problem about how many ice cream sundaes Lord Tubbington can eat."

You stay silent because you can almost hear Brittany's mind working. You love hearing her explain how it works.

"I don't care about watermelons or trucks but I care about Lord Tubbington…you get what I mean?"

"I think so," you say. "You try to make it relevant to you…so that you care…and can, therefore, concentrate better?"

"Yea!" Brittany says happily.

"You make it matter," you say.

"You could find a way to make it matter to you," Brittany suggests.

You huff a laugh, suddenly, imagining using Brittany's method. Your mind conjures up Lord Tubbington having a sword fight in the streets of Verona. You don't think you'd _ever_ be able to concentrate if you continued to do _that_. "I'll try," you tell Brittany when you feel her press a kiss to your jaw.

"Good," Brittany says. She lifts her head up. "I think I see Quinn and Kitty in the parking lot."

You turn and look and see that Brittany is right. You sit with her until all of the team is present and Coach Sue is setting up a diagram of yet another near-impossible pyramid. You're glad that the team, and Coach Sue, no longer give a second glance to you and Brittany. You're free to cuddle. Quinn's free to tease you two about how close you sit to each other. Brittany's free to take your hand whenever she wants. You're glad that senior year has brought no drama in that department and, so far, an absence of canons.

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_O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!_

_It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night_

_As a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear—_

_Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear._

_(1.5.51-54)_

You groan and shut the book. There's only so much of this ridiculous over-the-top language that you can take. Half of it is confusing and the other half you believe to be entirely unnecessary. It's only because Mr. Trenwick gives daily quizzes on vocab that you are even making yourself read anyway.

"Any progress?" Brittany asks over the phone an hour later.

"Not really. I have like thirty pages to read this weekend. Our first actual test on the material is Monday," you say. "It sucks."

Brittany is silent for a beat before giving you good news. "Well, Quinn just told me that Puck is throwing a party. Want to go?"

Your first party invite of the year! It doesn't feel as special as you had hoped. "Puck's throwing it?" you ask. "All his parties end up with people puking in the bushes and someone crying."

Brittany laughs. "Usually _you're_ the one crying."

Her laughter sounds too muffled over the phone. It doesn't sound as breathy as it does if she were in the same room as you. You press your phone harder against your ear. "Britt Britt," you whine. You wait until she quiets. "It's not _my_ fault tequila makes me emotional."

"Whose fault is it then?" Brittany teases.

"Jose Cuervo's," you insist. "Blame him."

"Next time I see him, I will."

Now she's got _you_ laughing.

"Will you go with me, please?"

You shake yourself out of the funk you seem to be in. It is, after all, a party and Brittany _did_, after all, ask you nicely. "Of course," you say softly into the phone. You say it queitly enough to make yourself question whether or not Brittany actually heard it.

"Cool!" Brittany chimes. "Lord Tubbington and I were going to make you watch National Geographic tonight anyway. There's a special about cats on."

After all these years, that actually sounds much better than a party. Feeling Brittany, warm, underneath your arm could trump any social gathering ever. You wonder what you two would have done about the fact that National Geographic specials always make Brittany overly-excited. Last month, when there was a special about the history of Geometry Brittany almost bounced you right off the couch with her enthusiasm. How anyone could be so interested in the Pythagorean Theorem, you'll never know.

"Can I drive this time?" Brittany asks, shyly.

You know that, when she asks to drive, that she means it as a way of asking you on a date. "Yes," you tell her without a second to consider, "you can drive."

"I'll pick you up at ten then, baby," she says sweetly.

You can hear a heavy bass beat in the background of your conversation. You know that she was probably dancing around her room before she called. "Alright, Britt. I'll be ready," you tell her.

"Wear something short. And sparkly."

"Your wish is my command," you rasp. The two of you hang up after her mom calls her down for dinner. You figure that Brittany already has something in mind to wear but you don't. You get up from your bed and trudge to your closet. Hopefully the new skirt you bought last week will surprise Brittany. It certainly is short and sparkly enough to do the trick. _Romeo and Juliet_ will have to wait until tomorrow. You've got your lady to think of, right now.

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Brittany S. Pierce is nothing short of a gentlewoman. She never forgets to open a car door for you and always treats you like a lady. Even though your heart has been hers for as long as you can remember, it still thrills you to witness how much she loves you in return. She doesn't quit looking at you the entire first hour of Pucks party. You suppose your new skirt, your low top, and smoky eyes shadow has something to do with it.

"Satan," Kurt addresses you happily. He leans on the counter next to the sink. "Make me one too?"

You squeeze the wedge of lime into the drink you had been making. Sighing, you hand it to him and start on another one for yourself. "Rum and Coke, with a twist," you say to him as he takes a sip. You end up making three more drinks for other party-goers before escaping the kitchen. You end up bumping into Quinn on the way to find a place to sit down. Brittany has long since disappeared to find the nearest stereo and willing dance-enthusiasts.

"S," Quinn says. "There you are. I've been meaning to talk to you about whether or not you think Rachel should come with us over Thanksgiving break."

You curl your lip in protest. You, Brittany, and Quinn had been planning to stay at Quinn's family's cabin in northern Ohio for a few days. Lately, you three have been taking any chance to be "The Unholy Trinity" again. You can feel that they are just as scared as you are to waste any last days. "Really, Q? You want to bring Rachel?"

"Actually, Quinn says, I was thinking…we could invite all the Glee girls. Make it like…a thing, or something."

"Quinn," you whine. You sip your drink so that you have time to think. Someone bumps into from behind and dark liquid sloshes onto your hand. The person is gone before you can even scowl at them. "I thought it was gonna just be a you, me, and Britt thing."

Quinn appears apologetic. "I know…it was. But…don't you think this way would be better? You, me, and Britt can go up there just ourselves over winter break. I promise."

You look at her skeptically. You can see that, unlike the first few years you had known her, Quinn is sincere. She cares. So, you let her. "Okay, okay," you say. "Berry's in. Everyone's in." You make a show of groaning and shaking your head. She presses a quick kiss to your cheek in thanks.

"Hands off," Brittany's voice drifts past.

You and Quinn both look up to where Brittany is walking by. She is shaking her finger warningly at Quinn but you see the devilish smile on her lips, even as she presses them together in mock-displeasure.

Quinn holds her hands up in defense and plays along. "I wasn't touching."

You grin and hold out your drink to Brittany. She takes it swiftly, winks at you, and continues her journey across the room. You are not even sure where she had come from but she looks to be on a mission to talk to Puck about something.

Quinn watches Brittany too. "Did she do something with her hair?"

You end up staring at your girlfriend. You already know the answer, but you like looking. Brittany's hair is pulled messily back from her face. A few stands have come loose and have fallen about her face. "I think she said she got this new shampoo…or something," you trail off. You get distracted because Puck has just nodded at Brittany and handed her something. It looks like the remote for his sound system. You smile at Brittany, even though she can't see you. Your girl will always be seeking out sound.

"Here," Quinn says.

She has handed you her drink and interrupted your staring. "What is it?"

"I don't know. Puck made it. It tastes like gasoline," she mumbles.

You take it gladly and sip it slowly. After a moment, you ask her if she has gotten started on the reading for English. You two are not yet drunk enough to start getting crazy. So, for now, you stick to tame subjects.

"No," Quinn says. "I'm just about to start scene five. That's where he meets Juliet, finally."

You nod and tell her that is where you've ended up too. The both of you groan about the hard-to-understand language and how hard the test might be on Monday. As Quinn falls into one of her well-worn rants about the unfairness of the teachers at McKinley, you find yourself wondering about the book. About Romeo and Juliet and about how he first ever saw her at a party. You look to your left and eventually find Brittany. You could find her in a room with even a thousand people. She is talking to Mercedes, who is showing her something on her phone.

"I bet that Mr. Trenwick doesn't even _care _that he's being unfair. I mean, we have loads more pages to read than any of the other classes. And, did you know that-"

You only had tuned in to see if Quinn had realized that you were no longer paying attention to her. You were back to staring at Brittany. Even in this stuffy, hot, darkly-lit room, she is beautiful. You're not sure if she is blushing from the heat, yet, like she always ends up doing at crowded parties. But, you can at least take pleasure in the fact that she is showing so much skin. She had decided to wear an off-the-shoulder blue dress that hugged her so tightly you wondered if it were a second skin entirely. The light from Puck's kitchen falls across Brittany's exposed shoulder and helps you to see the contour of her body. You felt a terrible urge to kiss her. Knowing that Quinn was still talking to you, you don't act on your urge. Instead, you stare. You wonder if anyone else knows just how beautiful Brittany was. You wonder if anyone can see the careful way she touched Mercedes's arm to show that she was listening. You wonder how anyone could not love her. You can't help but grow excited at the idea of how she is all yours. Suddenly, your book pops into your mind. The text appears from your memory. You had not realized that you had remembered it so well.

_Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear_

You flood with recognition. You feel yourself understanding more of Romeo than you had ever thought you would. You feel like you've understood him, in just this moment. You get it. You get him. Seeing Brittany, now, connect her eyes with your own, you smile. _Find a way to make it matter to you_, Brittany had told you. As you imagine what it would be like to see Brittany for the first time, you think that maybe you've found the key to caring about the characters. Maybe their language is different…maybe it was written hundreds of years ago…but Romeo was just a dude in love with a beautiful girl. He was willing to fight for her…to die for her. Maybe you have a lot more in common with him than you thought. You can feel both their pain. Both their longings.

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"Santana," Brittany says, a few days later.

Her voice only makes it to your ears in the background of what is already happening inside your head. "What?" you ask, distractedly.

Brittany waves her hand around.

You're meant to be baking a cake with her, for her mom's birthday. But, while the cake is in the oven, you've pulled out your book.

"I can't believe you're doing homework right now," she says.

She kisses you on the ear.

"I thought you didn't have to finish _Romeo and Juliet _until next month?"

"We don't," you say softly. You only pause your reading to share the Twizzler you had been eating with Brittany. She takes it between her teeth and chews.

"Then why are you still reading?"

"Did you know how hard they had it?" You exclaim, suddenly. "God, they had to go through so much shit just to be together. Like, he got exiled and her mom was gonna make her marry some other dude! Really fucked up. But they secretly got married…it's crazy."

Brittany smiles softly. "You're a nerd."

You look at her and imagine all the things you would do to be with her. You would definitely be willing to get exiled. You would duel. You would do anything. "I really like the story."

Brittany doesn't say anything. Instead she continues to eat Twizzlers.

She rubs your shoulders for awhile after the cake is done and you're still buried in the book. Every so often, you excitedly tell her what's happening and she sees if she can remember it from the movie. You can't help it. You can't help but picture yourself as Romeo and her as Juliet. Every time Romeo hurts, you are able to feel his emotions in your chest. Every time he speaks of Juliet, all you have to do is think of Brittany and you can understand Romeo's every word. You end up falling asleep holding Brittany tight. The cake is frosted and decorated beautifully. Your stomachs are full of pizza. Brittany is softly clutching at your shirt. You doze off, happy that your family never hated hers. Otherwise, there would be some swordfights to be had.

_My bounty is as boundless as the sea_

_My love as deep. The more I give to thee,_

_The more I have, for both are infinite. _

_(2.2.140-143) _

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At the end of the _Romeo and Juliet_ unit, there is an essay. It is a long ten-page essay that you find yourself working on for days. You have chosen to analyze the infamous death scene of the book. For almost a week, you study the scenes furiously, trying to wring from them every ounce of meaning. You try to feel every bit of sadness and hopelessness. You examine, in yourself, the same emotions. On the Monday you have to turn your paper in, you find yourself exhausted. You have drained everything from yourself to make the essay as passionate as possible. You have delved into analysis so deeply that, from every word, you thought of countless other meanings. You poured over those lines. Your eyes are tired from reading so much text.

"Good morning, gorgeous," Brittany whispers.

"It's noon," you tell Brittany, kissing her anyway. You never miss an opportunity to do so. Not anymore.

Brittany runs her tongue along her teeth and shrugs. "I didn't get to kiss you good morning today," she explains.

You frown. This morning you had skipped Cheerios practice to do one last revision on your essay. So, Brittany had been driven to school by one of her parents. "I'm sorry, honey," you say. You kiss her once more for good measure. She knows that, now your essay is done, you will finally have more free time. You haven't gotten to spend as much time with her lately. "Everything is turned in, now." Brittany smiles and takes your hand. She leads you to the lunch room.

"I don't like not spending time with you in the mornings. Even Lord Tubbington told me he missed you," Brittany tells you while Quinn and Mercedes find seats at the lunch table.

You laugh. "I bet he did."

Later on that night, you are relaxing in bed. You plan on having a quiet night in and watching a movie to help make you tired. But, your hands find themselves in your backpack, searching for your book. You find it quickly and take it out. Flipping to the last section of pages, you see the colors grow because of how many annotations you made. You run your eyes over the lines, taking them in one last time. You read Romeo and Juliet's discoveries of each other, and how they die. It strikes you just how young they are. It hurts you, finally, like it has been waiting to do.

_For never was a story of more woe_

_Than this of Juliet and her Romeo._

You don't know why you start crying, but you do. Your face is being streaked by salty, hot tears that drip off your chin and your chest is assaulted by your gasps. You hadn't realized how invested in the words you had become. You had lived them, felt them, as if they were your own. You can't shake the image of what Brittany would look like if she ever found you missing. You don't even go near the thought of what you would do if you had to live without her. Even though you try to avoid those thoughts, the pain assails you anyway. You figure that you look pretty dumb, crying over a fictional tale. Your phone lights up and you answer it immediately.

"San! Guess what, I-"

Brittany must hear your sniffling over the phone because her words die on her lips.

"San? What's wrong? Are you crying? Are you okay?"

You imagine her tilting her head in worry. You imagine her so-blue eyes widening.

"I'm…okay," you choke out. You're not sure if you've said it to convince her or yourself. "I'm okay," you repeat, just for good measure.

"You're crying," Brittany says softly. "I'm coming over."

You don't even have to tell her. You didn't even know you wanted it. But, she's in your bedroom seven minutes later. You thank your lucky stars that she lives so close to you. "B, you didn't have to-"

"Santana," she says. She moves quickly.

You're wrapped up in her arms faster than anything. You don't know how to tell her that you're crying over a story.

"Please, baby, tell me what's wrong," she pleads.

She says it so heartbreakingly that you cry harder. You cry for Romeo and Juliet and how they never got to live out their days together. You cry for you and Brittany because of how many days you wasted. After five minutes, you can finally pull back. You see that her eyes have grown red and watery. You know that she doesn't like to see you cry just as much as you hate seeing _her_ cry. "I'm sorry, B. It's that damn book," you choke out, attempting to downplay your sadness.

"It's just a book, San."

You know it. "They die," you tell her.

"I know, sweetheart," she murmurs.

She strokes your face and tries to dry the wet tear-tracks. "I didn't want them to die," you say. "It's not fair."

Brittany leans forward.

She presses you back into your mattress until you are both lying on your sides. You want to rest your head on her shoulder but don't want to risk not being able to look at her. Her eyes are the most beautiful color you've ever seen. She holds your hands tightly between her own, your faces merely inches apart.

"I don't want you to be sad," she whispers.

You struggle for a smile. "I'm just being weird," you say. "I'm sorry. I think I got too invested in it."

Brittany nods. "That's okay."

You can hear in her words that it really is okay. She says it in a way that tells you that, no matter what you feel, it will always be okay with her. She will always be there to catch you when you fall. You couldn't ask for anything more. You don't know how you ever deserved her.

"I brought you this," she says, pulling out a scarf.

It's a dark green and navy blue scarf. She knows that it's your favorite. She knows that you love when she wears it because it makes her eyes look like rolling water. You've never told her that you also like it because she lets you wear it and it always smells like her: floral, deep, and sweet. You laugh and feel the air become lighter. "Thank you, B."

"It'll be cold tomorrow morning," she informs.

You know she's trying to change the subject because she's started to smile. You let her change the subject because you really want to stop crying. "Can you sleep over tonight?" You know it's a school night, but ask anyway.

"Duh," Brittany says. "I already asked my mom. Plus, I told your mom that I was sleeping over on the way up the stairs."

You couldn't be more thankful to her. You love both your mothers for being so understanding with your relationship because, without Brittany, you'd be…well, you certainly wouldn't be okay. You watch her smile grow even wider.

"I'm all yours," she says.

You smell the coconut of her shampoo. You can feel the soft wool of her scarf between your hands. You could count her freckles, if you wanted. Her breaths are even and slow while yours are just beginning to calm down. "I love you, Brittany," you announce. "I love you more than anyone in the entire world."

She closes her eyes. When she opens them, her face has grown serious. "I love you, too, Santana. Always have, always will."

You kiss her as fast as you can. You will marry her one day, you are sure of it. You can't wait for the day that you get to ask her. You can't wait to spend the rest of your life loving her and being loved by her. You know your story will be a great one.

_And I love you, I love you, I love you_

_Like never before_


End file.
